


A Friend's Prerogative

by EllanaSan



Series: Tumblr Prompts [18]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1263907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s not that.” Haymitch sighed. “Well, that too, but…” He dug a flask out of his pocket and took a long swallow. She didn’t say anything. Nothing she could say would do the smallest difference anyway. “I wish people would stop talking about you like that.”</p>
<p>Original Prompt : could you write one where some man from district 12 makes fun of effie, and haymitch gets mad because he's the only one who can? (before mockingjay) :3</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Friend's Prerogative

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Akackankami for the beta

Effie caught sight of herself in a broken mirror in Haymitch’s house and concluded she shouldn’t have gone for that orange wig, it was a bit over the top really with the big green bows and the huge curls pinned high on her head. She didn’t even like it, nor did she like the bubble skirt that made her look distinctly chubby. _You will look like a sunset,_ the new District Twelve stylist had said. Useless to say she would go back to her personal wardrobe as soon as she could. She was actually afraid of how he would dress the children, his views on fashion were… eccentric to say the least.

She found Haymitch passed out on his kitchen table, a knife in a hand and a bottle in the other. It had fazed her the first few years to have to fetch him before every Reaping but, now, she just made sure it was included in her schedule. For someone who always insisted on keeping a knife under his pillow, he was a heavy sleeper. She wandered in his kitchen, making sure to click her heels loudly against the kitchen tiles, but he didn’t move even when she banged cupboard doors in search of a glass nor when she filled said glass with cold water from the tap.

Now, the next part had to be planned just right or it could be dangerous for her. She stood right behind him and poured the glass on his head, making sure to jump out of harm’s way before he began slicing the air with his knife. He spluttered a little, brushing his damp – too long, she would have to schedule a haircut for him – hair out of his face. When his eyes fell on her, he slumped back down on the table. “You look ridiculous.”

“You look drenched.” She crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow.

“And I will make you pay for that.” he mumbled, rubbing his face. “Mean it, though. You look even more ridiculous than usual.”

“Behold our new stylist’s work.” she sighed. “Very generous. There are clothes for you too in the train.”

“Not a chance in hell.” he growled. “How long do I have?”

“Somehow, I knew you would say that. I made sure to pack some other suits for you.” She consulted her watch. “You have fifteen minutes. Not one more.”

“Plenty of time, then.” He inspected his bottle carefully, probably trying to see if there was some liquor left in it.

She snatched it before he could bring it to his mouth. “You’re difficult enough when you’re sporting a hangover. You are not drinking until after the Reaping.” He rolled his eyes and tried to get the bottle back but she put it behind her back. Good point in favor of the huge dress, it made him keep his distance. “Go and get changed. A shower would be nice too but I’m not holding my breath on that.”

“I’m already tired of you.” He said but he must have known she wouldn’t relent because he did get up and stumbled to the stairs. She heard him walk upstairs and, if the noises were to be believed, bang his head or something or other. She kept a an eye on her watch as she wandered downstairs, frowning at the state the house was in. Garbage, empty bottles, shattered glass… She opened a window in the living-room because it smelt like rot.

“Don’t like my palace, princess?” She turned around, studying his choice of clothes attentively. It wasn’t perfect at any rate, but it would do.

“Are you ready?” she asked, neglecting to answer a question that was mostly rhetorical anyway. “Because if you’re not I’m leaving you here and you can bargain with Peacekeepers.” She usually did.

“Peacekeepers, at least, wouldn’t be trying to blind me with their clothes.” he said, gesturing for her to go first. “Seriously, what’s with the orange and the green? That’s awful, even _I_ can tell you that.”

She would love to contradict him but it _was_ awful. The dress, additionally to being huge, was green dotted with orange. She should have gone for one of her own wig, the white or the yellow, it would have, at least, made her look less like a carrot. Even her complexion looked bad in those clothes. “I will try to find another stylist for next year.” Stylists weren’t exactly fighting each other to be appointed to District Twelve, though. She had trouble finding one every year.

She was relieved to leave his house and its horrible stench of liquor behind. There was no small talk on the way to the square, there never was. Haymitch was getting gloomier and gloomier with each step and she was smiling brighter and brighter even if it hurt her lips to do so. _Look happy_ , she kept telling herself, _silly and frivolous, that’s who you are._

There was a small commotion when they arrived at the square, too much people trying to go in at once. Peacekeepers caught sight of them and asked them to wait on the side for a few minutes. Effie kept glancing at her watch but they were still on schedule. There was a group of men near them and they were making fun of her dress. Haymitch snorted at her, with a look that meant _told you so_ if there ever was one, but Effie pretended not to hear anything, just like the Peacekeepers who were also very busy laughing at her. The comments, though, became meaner and meaner and that made her shuffle her feet in embarrassment. She caught the words _peacock_ , _clown_ and last but not least : _Capitol bitch_.

Haymitch frowned at that last one but Effie put a hand on his arm before he could say something stupid. He was sporting the same look on his face he always had when Chaff went too far with her with his silly little provoking gibes or when anyone insulted her really. He got rid of her hand, though, and signaled to the Peacekeepers he was done with waiting. He pushed through the crowd, leaving her with no other choice but to follow him. He was angry, she could tell by the sudden tension in his shoulders, but was it because of what he heard or because of the Reaping? She should have let him have at least a glass – that being said, she was half-convinced he had several bottles stocked upstairs and had taken a few drinks while getting ready, but still.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, accepting the hand he was holding out to help her on the stage. They sat on the chairs in the back, waiting for the mayor to appear. They had a few minutes left before the actual Reaping started.

“Nothing.” he mumbled, looking everywhere but at the crowd of children staring at them with wide eyes.

She did the same. She always did. She didn’t want to see them until she actually had to. “Come on, it will be over before you know it.” It was hollow words and they both knew it. Reapings were just the beginning. Next, there would be the train ride and the Capitol and even more opportunities to get to know the children even if they didn’t want to and after that…

“It’s not that.” Haymitch sighed. “Well, that too, but…” He dug a flask out of his pocket and took a long swallow. She didn’t say anything. Nothing she could say would do the smallest difference anyway. “I wish people would stop talking about you like that.”

“Two of their children are about to die because I will pick a piece of paper with their name on it.” _Smile_ , she reminded herself. “They can laugh at me and insult me as much as they want to.” She had long lost her passion for the Games.

“I wish they could know the real you.” He took another mouthful and she wondered how drunk he was and how embarrassing he would be if she let him get drunker.

“They know the real me. Effie Trinket, District Twelve escort. There’s nothing else to know.” She tapped her heel against the wooden floor, waiting for the crew’s signal they were going live.

“I don’t like Effie Trinket. I like my friend Effie.” He sighed, tucking the flask in his front pocket. “They would like her.”

It always made her feel weird when he called her his friend. Lots of people called her their friend in the Capitol but Haymitch had few of those and they were precious to him. Cherished, even. It was humbling and a privilege for her each time he called her that.

“Let them hate me.” She replied, low enough that no one could hear her. There were too many Peacekeepers around for her peace of mind. “Besides, I _do_ look like a clown in this dress.”

“You always look like a clown.” he retorted with a mocking smile.

She had to fight not to roll her eyes – not very good manners, that. “See, you get upset when _they_ make fun of me but _you_ do it all the time.”

He shrugged. “That’s a friend’s prerogative, sweetheart.”

She didn’t answer but that time, her smile wasn’t fake. A friend’s prerogative, she was alright with that.

 


End file.
